Aisle Ten
by Becka73
Summary: A chance encounter provides Sam with some perspective.


Aisle Ten

"OK, what bug crawled up your ass and died? Because, I gotta tell ya, we can find an industrial can of Raid with your name on it Sammy," Dean snapped, not at all amused with the way the day had progressed since taking to the road at the crack of dawn. "So help me, if I don't get a break from your moping an' brooding, I'm gonna end up in the loony bin," he muttered in afterthought, the comment lacking much bite, but certainly not trying to spare his baby brother's turbulent feelings.

"Give me a break, Dean! I can't win with you. If I talk, I'm never right, and if I shut my mouth, I brooding. Make up your damn mind, will ya?" the younger man implored, raking his hands through his thick hair in frustration. After a moment or two of intense glaring, he finally returned to his previous activity of watching the blur of scenery as they sped down the highway.

Unfazed by the turmoil inside the sleek black Impala, life outside presented a palette of rich browns and fiery oranges. Fall had taken a firm hold on the foliage. As the boys had prepared to leave in the early morning, the air had become crisp with cold, making an extra layer or two of clothing more a necessity than a habit.

Approaching the town whose recent rash of disappearing corpses was impossible for those in their line of work to ignore, they were treated to brightly lit storefront windows adorned with a assorted holiday-themed photos. Golden skinned turkeys resting upon shiny, gold-edged china platters. Stately trees cradling sparkling garland and children's thoughtfully crafted ornaments. Everywhere one looked it was popping up family togetherness and great tidings of joy.

'It's enough to make you just wanna puke,' Dean thought as he maneuvered the car into the parking lot of the South Creek Motel. 'If all those people knew what was creeping around right outside their windows while they shared their golden goose, they might not be so freaking merry.'

"I'll go get the room," Sam volunteered. Knowing he was not the best company as of late, he was making a concerted effort to not tick Big Brother off any further. Not really waiting for a reply, he made his way to the motel's office, the only sound coming from the crunching of a thick layer of leaves beneath his feet.

Watching Sam move away, Dean went to the trunk and began retrieving their bags, eager to get a hot shower, some food, and settle down for the night. It didn't take too much to make him content. And if Sam would just pull himself out of his funk, that would be the icing on the cake. One could always dream, right?

Lord knows, he understood how this time of year was difficult for his brother. Watching all the cozy couples enjoying their time together, painfully aware of what he no longer had. But Sam wasn't the only one feeling the void once filled by someone who loved him. They both had a hole a million miles deep where their Dad had once dwelled. Dean was just better at camouflaging his despair.

Within minutes, Sam returned with a key to Room #44 and a willingness to assist with his brother's burden. Soon the boys were setting up shop in a lovely room with two full-sized beds, a working color TV, and the most awful floral wallpaper they had ever encountered. And considering the number of rooms they landed in throughout the year, that was quite an accomplishment.

"I swear, I could eat the entire buffet at the Golden Coral right about now. I guess M&M's just don't have the staying power they used to," Dean announced, searching through the complimentary phonebook for local food establishments. After a few seconds, his expression became one of deep unhappiness. "I can't believe it! This speck of a town doesn't even have a heading for 'Restaurants'. Is that even possible?"

"Well, I guess it is. If there isn't even a heading, then I think we're pretty much out of luck," Sam replied, rising from his perch on the edge of his bed. "Look, man, I know your beat from all the driving. And yes, I know, that you are about to keel over from starvation, so why don't I head on over to that grocery store we passed when we first hit town. I'll grab us some cold cuts, some bread, and we can eat while we go over things for tomorrow night." Slipping his feet into his previously discarded sneakers, he awaited his brother's reply.

Giving serious thought to jumping back in the Impala and making a bee-line for the next town with a diner, Dean finally relented to himself that he was just too tired to drive any more that evening. He'd never tell Sam, but the blow his left shoulder had taken back on their last gig was aching something fierce, and if he was going to be 100 for this next outing, he needed some serious relaxation and a healthy dose of Tylenol. "It's up to you, Sammy. I'm good to head on to the next town over to catch a meal, but if you'd rather grab some stuff..."

"Naw, I'm good with hitting the store here. We need to go over the plan for tomorrow, and if we drive any further its going to cut into our research time," Sam stated, fully aware that Dean was making the offer in an attempt to make him happy, regardless of his sore shoulder and need for some solid rest. It hadn't escaped Sam's attention during their quietly tense journey that his brother was favoring his left side and fighting off a headache that was causing a slight squint of his eyes. The younger man was nothing if not extremely observant, especially when it came to Dean. "I'll be back in a bit."

"And as much as you might like to deny it, I'll be right here waiting," Dean taunted, with a chuckle and a smirk. "And don't forget the beer, Samantha. No matter what grub ya get, it will really suck without the proper beverage accompaniment." The click of the door shutting was his only reply.

Soon Sam found himself passing through a set of automatic doors and into the exciting world of grocery shopping on Friday night. As it was well after the late afternoon rush of folks grabbing last-minute dinner components, the store was relatively empty. Taking a bright red, handled basket, he began prowling the aisles in search of quick, yet hopefully nourishing, meal ideas. In went a loaf of bread, a package of cheese, some chips. 'Maybe I'll grab some pineapple rings. We could use something from the fruit/vegetable group, and even Dean will eat them,' he thought, spotting the sign indicating the aisle for canned goods and juices.

Turning the corner, the young man quickly spotted his objective at the end of the row. As he approached the appropriate shelf, he found himself within a foot or two of an elderly woman in a powder blue overcoat, holding a can tightly in her right hand. Her silver-crowned head was tilted down towards the faded linoleum floor. She seemed oblivious to his presence.

As Sam came closer, he could hear a quiet sniffling sound, and upon further inspection he noted twin tear tracks trailing down her weathered cheeks. Concerned, he asked, "Ma'am? Are you alright?" Judging by the way the poor woman jumped and nearly dropped the can in her hand, he must have spoken a tad louder than he intended. "Oh! I'm so sorry, Ma'am! I didn't mean to startle you..."

In a voice that carried more strength than Sam had anticipated, she replied, "Oh my, Sweetie, don't you fret about it! If I wasn't standing around here being silly, I would've seen such a handsome young man coming." As she spoke, she wiped the tears from her face.

Feeling the heat of the inevitable blush rush to his cheeks, Sam could not help but grin. "Well, as long as I didn't scare ya. Are you really OK? I saw you crying and, well,..."

"I'm fine, young man. Just caught up in days gone by... Let myself forget where I was for a moment." Looking again to the can in her hand, she then placed it on top of a rather large pile of cat food containers in her own basket. Upon lifting the heavy burden, she could not avoid the heavy sigh that escaped her lavender-tinted lips.

"Here, let me get that for you. You shouldn't be carrying all that, Ma'am," Sam said, taking the basket from her before she could protest. "Do you have more shopping to do?" he asked.

"Call me Gracie, honey. And no, I'm all through for tonight," she advised smiling back at the polite young man with the windblown hair.

As the pair walked towards the front of the store to check out, they continued with their introductions, and Sam learned that Gracie had lost her husband of forty-two years, Harold, last Fall to a lingering illness. He couldn't help but compare his current emotional state, and its causes, to Gracie's tears on aisle ten.

"I don't know what came over me back there. I picked up that can of peaches and it was like I was back there, all those months ago, feeding them to my Harold. It was one of the few things he could stand to eat, towards the end, and I didn't care if we had them three times a day. As long as they made him happy. Funny how things like that just pop up out of the blue sometimes. I hadn't thought of it in so long..." her voice trailing to a mere whisper as her pale blue eyes took on a new sheen of tears. "Lord, look at me. Weeping again. You must think me a pathetic old woman for sure," she declared, laughing just a bit.

"No, I don't. And I'm really sorry about your husband. I can't imagine what it must be like losing someone you loved after so long together," Sam reassured, his heart breaking as he noted the plain gold band circling her finger. 'Jess didn't even get to wear my ring,' he thought, blinking his own tears away quickly.

"Oh, but I bet you can, Sam. My pain is your pain. I can tell," she comforted, gently squeezing his hand as the walked. "Tell me about her."

Blinking in confusion, but also welcoming the chance to share his feelings, he began, "She had the most beautiful smile. It would light up the entire room. She was smart and funny..." As they walked, he continued to share with Gracie all the things he both loved and admired about the woman he had hoped to make his wife. As if by magic, their walk to the front of the store never seemed to quite reach its conclusion.

After quite some time, and just before they came to the row of registers, they found themselves on the snack food aisle. "Wait just a moment, Sam. I want to grab some Saltines," Gracie said as she searched the shelves for the familiar blue and white box. Upon finding her prize, she turned to her companion, only to find him holding a bag of cookies, staring at it as if it were a sacred artifact.

"Sam, honey, what is it?" she asked, voice laced with concern as she noted the paleness of his features and the teardrops sliding unchecked from his eyes.

"She made the best cookies, Gracie. Whenever we would have an argument, or if we had been apart. They were always perfect. Soft in the middle..." he whispered, looking to her with a heartbreaking sincerity. Blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear his vision against a torrent of fresh tears, he choked out, "I don't think I'll ever eat cookies again."

Rushing forward, as much as her stiff joints would allow, Gracie attempted to surround Sam with her thin arms, as she would a small child. 'Such a broken soul,' she thought as she listened to his heart beating through his flannel shirt. "Oh, Sam. It might seem like that now, but it gets better. I promise. One day it won't be her loss they remind you of, but rather her life. Just give it time."

Pulling away from the embrace, Sam quickly swiped at his eyes and offered a watery smile. "Really? Will it get better than this?"

Looking down to the can of peaches in her basket, and remembering her own moments of despair earlier, she replied, "Yes, I believe it will. I know it will. Because, unlike this whole past year, I actually got this can into my basket today. And if I can do it, sweetie, so can you." Returning her gaze to the man before her, she offered him a warm smile that reached all the way to her eyes. "It might take some time, but you'll find a way."

Later, as Sam unlocked the motel room door and bustled inside, he laid his bags down and handed his brother a brightly colored package. Meeting his brother's wary gaze, he said with a faint smile , "Go on, have a cookie, Dean. You know you want one." Sometimes sharing the burden made all the difference.


End file.
